


Breaking Point

by impish_nature



Series: Imptober [4]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Accidents, Flashbacks, Gen, Major Character Injury, Protective Ford Pines, Sea Grunkles, Stan O' War II, Stan Pines Needs A Hug, warning: possibly graphic depictions of injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26842387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impish_nature/pseuds/impish_nature
Summary: Prompt: Broken down/Broken BonesAccidents at sea happen, however careful you may be.Unfortunately for Stan, some can dredge up memories with them.
Relationships: Ford Pines & Stan Pines
Series: Imptober [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949311
Comments: 11
Kudos: 150





	Breaking Point

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for possibly graphic details on injuries.
> 
> In case anyone on AO3 is keeping an eye on my Imptober challenge but not following my tumblr - If these fics get longer I'm not going to push myself to post everyday. 3-4k a day just isn't sustainable so I'm just going to try my best and have fun with it! Take care. x

It was strange, quite how quickly the world could turn upside down.

All it takes is one wrong turn, a blink, an exhale of breath, and suddenly all the air is punched out of your lungs and the open sky spins like a fairground ride you never meant to take. Off kilter, ready to take you down as the ground crumbles beneath your feet.

At least, that's how it always seemed to be for Stan. The world was always ready to throw him in the deep end at a moment's notice.

He'd hoped that after everything, the universe might stop trying to push him around.

He'd been quietly humming to himself, a serene smile on his face, tapping calloused fingers on fraying trousers as he sat, staring out to sea. There wasn't a cloud in sight, the sun beaming warm and bright against his arms and back, and the small bobber on the end of his fishing line was all that really kept him linked to reality. Otherwise, his mind was elsewhere, a peaceful static drone buzzing through his blank mind, as seagulls screeched overhead, hoping to snag his catch before he did if he wasn't careful and prepared. Behind him, he could hear his brother as if in the far distance, soft footfalls padding along as he absorbed himself in whatever anomaly had brought them here in the first place. 

One moment, under the bright blue sky, Stan felt at one with the world, like all the planets had finally aligned, the puzzle pieces had fallen into place and finally he was living the life he was always meant to lead.

The next second, a loud crack tore through the air and the folding chair he'd been sitting on jerked to the side, toppling, as the boat lurched beneath him. Something hit the metal railing of the boat with a long clattering ring that ricocheted around his ears as he promptly smacked into the floor shoulder first, head bumping slightly after with another flare of pain. 

Amidst this, another softer, though no less unpleasant _crunch_ filtered through his disorientated senses. He felt something solid give beneath his fingers, breaking sharply in two and any air in his lungs choked out of him as a flood of pain washed over him. He curled up into a ball on the ground, breathing shallowly, heart thumping rapidly as his brain overloaded with sensation.

"Shit, that was- Stanley?!" 

Stan let out a hiss of a response, unable to open his mouth further than the gritted grimace it was locked in. He'd felt this kind of pain before, years and years ago, of course he had- young, homeless, running for his life, still, despite that it didn't really prepare him for a repetition. It was the kind of pain that your mind slowly forgot the true taste of, time taking the edge off. The body, however, never truly forgot. Like, that gut feeling not to put your hand near a flame even if you couldn't quite recall how much it had hurt the last time. And so, adrenaline pumped abruptly through this system, nerves sparking, his body trying it's best to keep him level-headed. His hands clenched tightly at his thigh, pushing down around the wound without being able to look at it. The memories from the last time this had happened were rising from the depths to greet him, skewing reality as all the interlocking recollections, that had quite never made their way to the surface since his 'lapse in memory', were now exposed to the light. 

It had been a baseball bat that time, a sudden solid snap to his leg that had made his eyes smart and black dots fizzle across his vision. It had knocked all the air out of him, a wheeze all that he could pull forth from his lungs, even though he felt the need to scream through the agony. Looking down had not been his most sensible idea. As soon as he saw the damage, his vision had blacked out, his muscles going limp. Even now, he had no idea how long he passed out for. It could have been minutes or mere seconds before he joltingly came to again, still locked in a terrible situation he'd found himself in with little means of escape. 

But now he was smarter, his body reacting to the pain as if it were an old adversary, a familiar routine that his muscle memory knew how to respond to. 

He turned his gaze away, eyes tightly screwed shut and took as steady a breath as he could muster, reminding himself that this time- _this time_ \- he wasn't alone to deal with it.

"F-Ford?" The word barely made it past teeth and a pain addled tongue. Heavy footfalls vibrated through the wooden floor, rattling around his skull where it lay. They should have made him flinch, would have if he'd had any sense to spare through the pain. But as it was, the much heavier, louder thump right beside his head of two knees hitting the deck without a care and the warm hand that fell atop his shoulder, instead caused a swell of relief to muddle into the mix of heady adrenaline coursing through him.

"I'm here. I'm right here."

Stan tried to relax under the slow soft movements on his forearm, the reassuring warmth that ran soothing circles across his skin, tried to lock on to the comforting voice, the familiar safety that he hadn't been able to rely on the first time. But the bolts of pain that snapped all the way up his spine, and the bright flare of his injured leg outweighed any optimism he could latch on to. All he could do under the tidal wave of agony was ride out the storm, curling up even further and pulling his leg in tighter to his chest.

"Stan? Stan, can you hear me?"

Ford's voice was an echo of worry at the back of his skull. As much as he couldn't respond to the frantic urgency his brother was trying to urge him with, the cold release of his arm as his brother moved away almost made him sob. 

_No- no, please don't leave me._

He hadn't even realised he'd latched onto the warmth to keep him tethered. The storm held him in it's thrall and the knowledge that someone else was there with him had been a rope, a life line that connected him to reality even if he couldn't quite break the surface of the water.

_I can't do this alone._

He was drowning, water muffling his ear drums until all he could hear was the dissonant ring of a metal bat being swung, over and over with every pulse of pain, a death knell growing louder with every stuttering heartbeat. A distorted laugh bubbled through his skull, bouncing and splintering, increasingly scrambled until it became a cacophony of all the people he had double crossed. Scornful, mocking sounds, jeering at his plight. All of them shadows that surrounded him in the darkness, pushed him deeper and deeper into the water, flashes of yellow sparking up to fill the empty spaces in between that he might have somehow escaped through.

And the one person who might have been willing to help him, the light that might have helped him resurface, was on the other side of them all, pulling further and further away the more he let him, fading from his view with every sinking second.

If only he could open his mouth, if only his jaw wasn't locked and his entire being trembling. If only-

_I'm sorry, I can't- It hurts- I'm sorry, I'm sorry-_

"Stan."

The word was solid, determined, laced with a hint of fear but none of the anger that he was so despondently sure would follow. 

_Pull yourself together. What are you? A Child?_

"Stan? I'm here. Whatever's happening in there, I need you to focus on me."

It was weird after so many years to hear his brother and father in the same vicinity, even if that vicinity was his own mind.

Especially when they seemed so at odds with one another.

" _Please_. Please open your eyes."

The warmth from before returned, now resting on his cheeks, small circular embers that dotted across his temples and his eyelids. The heat pulled him from the dark eddies, dragged him out of ice cold waters- but it was the edge to his voice that cut through him. That fear, that urgency, the thought that Ford needed him right that instant. It hushed the laughter, the mocking cries, until with all the energy he possessed, he squinted his eyes open.

The sunlight burned.

But he found solace in Ford's face above him.

Ford's shoulders slumped, arms shaking in tremors that Stan felt travel across his cheeks, but he held him fast, still continuing the soft motions against his skin. "There he is. Welcome back."

"For-" Stan grunted, close to uttering his name but without enough mobility to get his tongue to move in the correct pattern.

"Shh, it's OK." Ford's eyes became focused, quick fleeting glances at the rest of him even whilst his hands continued to soothe and his gaze so obviously wanted to latch to Stan's face. "Just- just tell me what hurts- if you can- whatever you can manage." His words were soft, sharply urgent but with no actual bite to them.

Stan didn't know whether it made him feel fragile or protected but either way he couldn't help the gratitude welling up inside him as his brother stayed at his side.

"Leg." 

It was probably pretty obvious with the way he was clutching it, but if he knew Ford, then he'd want to be sure. Either way Stan knew he was in capable hands even if he couldn't quite bring himself to try and struggle out of the foetal position he'd managed to curl himself into.

"Your leg?" Ford nodded, relief awash in his eyes at Stan's utterance. "OK. We can deal with that- we _will_ deal with that, OK?" Stan wasn't sure which one of them the words were for exactly but he took comfort in them nonetheless. "I'm going to take a look, is that alright? I just need you to stay with me." 

Stan swallowed, the lump in his throat, solid and unyielding. He nodded once, a sharp tense motion as he braced himself for more pain.

"Easy. Easy- just, stay calm." Ford kept one hand on his face, moving it to act as a divider between his head and the floor. The other hand slowly pulled away, moving to cover Stan's hand on his thigh. "It's OK, Stan, just let me take a look." The hand slowly pried at his fingers, insistent and gentle, urging him to pull away from the pain. Ford's eyes found his again, reassuring and calming. "You trust me, right?"

And just like that it was as simple as breathing. 

Stan hissed, an annoyed sound that would have made them both laugh in any other circumstance at the low blow Ford had levied. Instead it did at least lighten the mood ever so slightly, relaxed the tight coil of his muscles enough that even if he couldn't move it himself, Ford could slowly pull his hand away and lay it gently on the floor after giving it a tight squeeze of thanks.

"That's it, you're doing great, Stan."

Stan didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the sentiment. 

He didn't feel like he was doing _good_ , let alone great. When he'd been younger...

Well, younger him hadn't had Ford to take care of him. It was deal with the situation or get a much more fatal blow to the back of the head.

So hopefully he'd be forgiven for allowing himself to give in, now that he was a lot older, and greyer, and his brother was knelt beside him, offering to do whatever he could to help.

The soft push on tender flesh snapped him from his desolate thoughts. He whimpered, biting down on the noise almost instantly as Ford's eyes snapped back to his face, watching every subtle change and he couldn't help but try to turn away from it, not wanting to be _seen_ this weak.

" _Stan_. It's OK." Ford's hand moved, running over his forehead and into his hair before reclaiming its spot around his neck. "It's just us, no one's judging you on how well you deal with this. Besides-" His mouth twisted up into a smile that didn't reach the concern gleaming in his eyes. "I'm the one that's had to patch you up after you've got yourself into fights before. So, out of everyone I think I know your pain thresholds." He kept their eyes locked, hoping to distract as his hand gently pressed again, following the line of his thigh, testing the waters with each ministration. "And I know that you aren't one to let pain get the better of you like this unless it's serious."

Stan tried to scoff, each lance of pain stopping his progress as he took deep breaths in and out. "Y-you say that like it's only me who gets us into fights."

Ford's smile brightened, more genuine than before. "True. True." He hummed, happy to divert attention as Stan's eyes focused more and more on his face. "Then again I've also seen you cry when the twins manage to send us a care package. Remember? That sweater you refused to take off for like a week? So, maybe I don't know what I'm talking about. Maybe you _have_ gone soft in your old age."

Stan's breathing hitched, a half chuckle escaping him. "Shut it, nerd." 

"Never." 

Ford shifted back onto his haunches, relief marring his expression as he smiled down at Stan, hand moving away from his injury to find his shoulder. "Well, it doesn't seem to be broken, so that's a relief." 

Stan blinked blankly at him, the pain a dull ache in the background as he stared at him. "Wha-?"

Ford frowned, glancing back over as Stan's hand moved once more to cradle his wound. "There's no break from what I can feel. No cuts or blood either... It's a strange place for a sprain but there's obviously something going on. If you can sit up, I might be able to get a better look?"

The world was becoming fuzzy around the edges again, his ears ringing, as Ford continued to talk. _Not broken? What does he mean not broken? I felt it-_ And even as he got lost in his thoughts, Ford was slowly pushing and prodding him to move, his body letting him take the reigns as his mind succumbed to the confused buzz of pain still fizzling through his system.

"There we go. Still with me?"

Stan flinched back to reality, the hand on his shoulder tight and firm as it shook him ever so. He nodded, staring down at his own legs, trying to find the source of the pain, to visualise the break he'd felt beneath his fingers. His vision doubled for a second, black spots forming as his leg deformed and reformed, superimposing memory and present day before realigning every time he blinked. His hand trailed down but Ford caught it, putting it back beside him with a few small taps.

"Let me. I'm the Doctor here, remember?"

Stan snorted. "Not a medical one though." His head felt heavy, exhaustion tugging at his every movement as he watched Ford continue his examination. Sparks of pain still zapped through him as he was checked over but it felt strange, on his peripherals. Like it was just out of sync, each flare of pain linked to what he was seeing instead of as soon as the touch physically came. "What happened?"

"Hmm?"

"To the boat, what-?"

"Oh." Ford glanced back at him before continuing his ministrations. "We hit something. Nothing too serious, just an outcropping we hadn't picked up on when we chartered the course by the looks of it." He grinned sheepishly. "Guess that'll teach us for relying on autopilot."

Stan let his head fall back against the railing he'd been propped up on, eyes drifting shut, too heavy to hold open. "Ehh, once in a while we're allowed to make a mistake."

"Quite right." Ford hummed back. A few more moments passed before he finally sat back, turning to Stan once more. "There really doesn't seem to be a break. Can you stand?" 

Stan pushed himself up, staring wide eyed at him.

_Stand? On a broken leg?_

Sure, he'd hobbled on one before. The pain had been excruciating as he stumbled agonisingly away from captors that wanted him dead, biting on his knuckles to keep from making any noise as he all but dragged himself through dark winding corridors. But - well, there was a time and place for that kind of foolhardy response to a broken leg.

And now didn't seem like one of those times.

"But it broke."

Ford frowned, eyebrows furrowing as Stan spoke. "What?"

"It broke. I felt it break."

"You felt it-" Ford's frown deepened, alarm flashing in his eyes as he took in Stan's expression. "Stan, I really can't find a break, are you sure?"

Stan nodded, own mind racing as the dull throb persisted in his leg. "I had my hand on my knee and I felt it-" Nausea flared up then, thick and fast, his entire body listing to the side as he felt the need to heave. His fingers tingled with residual feeling, the unnatural creak and bend of his bones still lodged inside his grasp.

"Whoa, whoa, easy-" Ford's hand propped him up again, gently sitting him upright as he coughed on air. The next words out of his brother's mouth were hesitant, worried, but in a way that suggested he was scared to start an argument. Which didn't make any sense at all to Stan given the circumstances.

"Now, Stan. Are you sure... and don't get mad at me- but are you sure you didn't feel, well... that?"

Stan followed the line of his pointing finger, frowning in disappointed irritation- _why didn't Ford believe him_ \- before they finally alighted on what Ford was trying to show him. He stared, uncomprehendingly, at the strange heap of fibreglass and string that he was sure hadn't been there when he sat down earlier that day. 

It took a few long seconds to realise it was actually his fishing rod- or what was left of it.

... _Oh_.

It was neatly snapped in two, held together only by the fishing line that ran through it's eyelets. A line that was now also impossibly tangled around his folding chair and the railing he'd been propping it against. 

"Stan?"

He couldn't speak. What could he say?

"Stan... have you broken your femur before?"

"Hmm?"

"Your leg. Have you broken your leg before?"

Stan's head was turned back to the conversation, Ford's face holding a different kind of worry, one that by now he was used to, what with everything they had been through before they'd left on their journey across the sea. It didn't, however, make him feel any better, his heart sinking to rest in his stomach, in a churning mass of shame.

The pain in his leg was dissipating, like clouds dispersing once a storm has passed. As if nothing had ever happened in the first place.

"But I _really_ felt it."

He hated how small his voice had gone, how pleading and childish he sounded. He just needed his brother to believe him- it _had_ to have happened.

Because if it hadn't-

Stan swallowed, lump once more firmly lodged in his throat.

If it _hadn't_...

"I know you did, Stan." Stan scrunched up his nose at the pity filtering through his brother's voice. "But whatever the memory was that latched on to you, I need you to know you're safe. You're alright." Ford tilted his head to catch his eye, guilt swirling in his gaze and Stan wasn't sure if he hated it more or less than the pity. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Stan let his head fall forwards, hiding his expression from Ford's inquisitive gaze. His fingers fisting in his trousers, above the old wound, the old scar that pulsed in tandem with his heart but only as if to remind him of the memory. "It's not broken?"

"No." Ford's voice was genuine, a doctor letting someone know they were completely healthy and could face the world again.

He didn't feel like he could face the world though.

Stan laughed, a hollow sound as he covered his eyes with his hand. When had he started to well up? How much more shame did he have to go through today? "Great. Brilliant. _Fantastic_."

"Stan-"

"So, it's just my head that's broken then?" Stan dropped his hand to stare at his brother, almost wishing he hadn't said anything as he physically saw Ford's heart break across his face. Stan tried for a crooked grin, heart hammering in his chest in guilt. "What? It-it's not a new observation, now is it, Sixer?" 

"Lee." The old nickname cut off his dark laugh, sobering him up from whatever hysterical road he'd been about to wander down. Ford's eyes were harder, sharper as he came closer and for a second there was _fear._ That awful paranoia that Ford was about to up and leave, snap at him for being a nuisance and go back to whatever he was doing before he got in his way like he always did. "Lee, don't you _ever_ talk about yourself like that."

"What?"

"I can't listen to you do that. Not anymore."

Ford sat beside him, arm curling around his shoulders before tugging him in against his chest. Stan felt him breathe heavily against his hair, puffs of air that felt and sounded shaky as they sat against the railing together, the boat peacefully bobbing in the water. 

"You're not broken, Stan. Anyone whose been through what you have-" There was a definite swallow as his voice cut off, a tightness to his words that Stan couldn't help but blanch at. 

Had he made Ford _cry_?

"Ford-"

" _No one_ 's been through what you've been through, Stan." Ford rested his head against the top of his skull, taking a deep breath in and tightening his hold, as if scared that by letting go, Stan would vanish entirely. "You've been through so much and done so much and no one will ever be allowed to judge you, least of all me."

Stan's throat constricted all the more as he struggled to regain control of the conversation. "Ford-"

"I won't hear it." Ford kissed the top of his head. 

"You're not broken."

A tear fell then, one that Stan couldn't hold in any longer. He turned, pushing himself into the hug that was being offered and choked out a soft protest as he did so. 

"It's alright." Ford muttered above him, slowly rocking them as they sat safe in their own little bubble, their small slice of home gently swaying on calm seas as the empty blue sky stretched far above them. "I promise you, everything's alright."

Warm water hit Stan's scalp and he tightened his hold, a physical apology for making his brother cry, but Ford just gently shushed him, rubbing a hand down his back. 

"You don't ever have to feel broken again."


End file.
